And Straight on Till Morning
by halwaffles
Summary: Margaret Darling has always been all too eager to grow up. However, the story of Peter Pan, her one weakness in this regard, has been the only real evidence of any childhood for her. But what will happen when she crosses paths with the characters that she thought she knew weren't real?
1. The Child

**A/N & E/N:** Hello! So, this may seem a little strange for people that have already read this story, but basically, I'm almost completely rewriting what I've done with the story so far. I don't think my previous work is bad, but upon reading there's a lot of details that I feel are too far off to be ignored cumulatively. Luckily, I didn't get too far into the story before I went on a hiatus, so it won't be too long before new chapters come out. Also, my last day of school was today, so other than a bunch of stuff I'm doing over the summer and the start of band camp in late July, I'll do my best to write and update the stories that I've torturously made people wait for updates. (Mwhaha :) ).

So, that is enough updating and rambling from me. Here we goooooo!

!

 **Original A/N:** Hello dear readers! I'm excited to present to you the first chapter of the sequel to "The Second Star to the Right"! It isn't exactly necessary to read the fanfic previously mentioned, but it does set up some of the story to "And Straight on Till Morning," (I'm still debating leaving in the "and" or not).

Also, this does take place in the UK, but I will be using American English instead of British English. I did do some research on the school system in the UK as to attempt to portray it somewhat accurately, though there might be a couple flaws here and there…

Anyway, I definitely feel the need to write right now because I just drove for the first time today which was scary as heck, so this is helping me unwind. Alright, enough rambling, enjoy!

!

The clouds hung low in the sky, their heaviness pressing the air in a suffocating, eerie way. Light droplets of water managed to squeeze out of the clouds, marking the start of the miserable rain all too familiar in London. A wave of black umbrellas popped into appearance at this reaction from mother nature, though the owners of these umbrellas did little to consider the reason for mother nature's weeping.

It happened that her weeping was related to a small procession that congregated at the edge of London, where the urban jungle abruptly seized to exist and made way to the striking, lush country of England. It was here that rows of down-trodden stones marked the burial ground of the dead, both beloved and abandoned to be consumed by the earth.

Near the entrance to the cemetery were two, freshly dug graves. A small pond of black surrounded both caskets respectively, with figures hiding their faces as they took part in varying degrees of mourning, though somehow all appearing quite uniform. The only figures who broke this perfect uniformity were two grave diggers, both of them impatient for the party to leave so they could bury the caskets and head out to the much-anticipated lunch they'd planned that day.

After a small eternity, there were only two members of the party left (a seasoned woman and a young child), both donned in perfectly respectable black garb. The woman's light brown hair betrayed hues of whitened strands that threatened to reveal her descent into an elderly age. The young one, however, was unmistakable in her youthfulness. At the most she would have had to have been four years old, though there were some that would insist she was three at the most. Either way, age didn't make much a difference in the reality of her situation. The little one stared at the two graves in front of her, not yet old enough to be able to read the inscriptions that marked them both.

But the young one didn't need to be able to read to understand these two graves were the new permanent residence of both her parents. The older woman stiffened to ward off the tears that threatened to break her own British propriety.

At this point, the two grave diggers lost their patience with the two lingering strangers. "Oi, ye plan on faffing there all day?"

The old woman, with perfect patience, turned around to look at the two rather impertinent boys with the most frighteningly warm expression they'd ever witnessed. "I do apologize for forcing the both of you to wait. Margaret," she said turning to the young child, "you will have to say farewell to your mother and father." She glanced at the two boys from the corner of her eyes as she made certain to emphasize their relation to the corpses. Both boys stiffened slightly at realizing the significance of the moment, and sheepishly stepped back a few steps to allow the both of them more time.

Unbeknownst to the older woman at first, the little one broke away from her grip and walked towards the two graves. She did not understand death yet; she was too young. However, she did know quite well that her parents were never coming back. It was a realization that she was uncertain as to how to comprehend, so instead she chose to store the matter in her head to decide upon later. The little one patted both of the graves fondly before looking back at her grandmother.

The light sprinkle had turned into a rain now, drenching the both of them uncomfortably. They would worry about their health later. The little girl waddled back to the embrace of her grandmother, their hair intertwining in stringy tangles from the rain. Finally, the two hand in hand walked away from the graves, never to see their inhabitants again.

!

"Margaret!" Grandma Wendy called upstairs. She bustled around the kitchen, glancing out the window toward the street. Children ran around on the street playing all sorts of games and other entertaining past times. In her heart she silently longed for those days when she was a child. And for a particular person that had been there for her in that time…

Wendy snapped out of her stupor, putting down the wooden spoon she carried with a sigh before ascending the stairs. Her trip up the stairs was slow; after all, she wasn't a young woman anymore. After allowing herself a moment to recover from the taxing journey she walked over to Margaret's room, knocking on her door lightly.

"Margaret?"

"Yes, Nana?" A high-pitched voice answered in a half-engaged voice. Wendy swung open the door to see Margaret sitting at her desk in her room, bent over it with the most serious expression she had ever witnessed in a 9-year-old. It only took another moment of observation to see that she was reading a book over mathematics.

"Dear, the other children are outside playing. You should join them."

Margaret finally tore her gaze away from the words she had been soaking from the book. She gave a weary smile to her grandmother. "Thank you, Nana. But I would rather stay inside. I feel quite knackered."

Wendy blinked at Margaret's response, shaking her head. "Dear, you always say that!"

"I do apologize. I know you mean well for me, as you always do. But…it's not fun."

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked, aghast.

Margaret bit her lip. "I prefer to stay inside and read, or do arithmetic. After all, there's not better time to prepare for my higher education," she replied matter-of-factly. Wendy sighed at Margaret's response.

"Margaret, dear, you must not be in such a hurry to grow up, or else you will regret it when you have."

"But I don't like to run around like a hooligan. Shouting and screaming…I rather like the quiet inside," Margaret elaborated. Margaret turned back to where she left off in her book, completely unaware Wendy remained standing in the doorway, staring worriedly at her granddaughter. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head.

"Well, would you like to hear a story?" She asked with a hint of mystery in her voice.

Margaret turned back to look at her grandmother, considering the offer for a moment before closing her book slowly, using her arm to keep her place. "What kind of story?"

"A story about the boy who never grew up."

"Nana that's impossible!" Margaret exclaimed, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

"It was once believed that the earth was the center of the universe," Wendy replied. Margaret opened her mouth to speak before considering the fact. After another moment of pondering, she finally closed her book completely. In her mind, she didn't think there could be harm in a story anyway. Stories were a true weakness of hers; one of the only factors that kept her from truly growing up.

Margaret rose from her chair and walked over to her bed, where Wendy seated herself. Margaret mentally prepared herself to use the time to quietly go over the mathematics equations she had learned and only pretend to listen, if only to appease her Nana.

"Now, where to begin? Well, I guess I should start from the very beginning. Once upon a time…"

!

Margaret sat at the edge of her bed, wide-eyed and completely in tune with each word that was spoken by her Nana. "Captain Hook thrusted his sword towards Peter Pan but…" Wendy paused, glancing over at her granddaughter mischievously in the midst of the animated hand jabbing motion she made while acting out the scene.

"What happened next? Oh, please Nana!" Margaret pleaded in suspense. Wendy allowed her arms to flop to her sides.

"Unfortunately, young lady, it is becoming quite late. We will have to continue this story another time," Wendy told her, ushering for Margaret to slide into bed.

"Oh, but you must finish the story! What happens to Peter Pan? Does Captain Hook get him?" Margaret asked, still completely engrossed. As she did so, Wendy couldn't help but notice a particular sparkle in Margaret's eyes that she'd seen on very few occasions from her granddaughter: the sparkle of childlike wonder.

"I'll finish the story tomorrow, if you so wish," Wendy replied, kissing Margaret on the forehead.

"You will?"

"Of course," Wendy said in final parting for the night. Margaret sleepily waved goodbye to her grandmother as Wendy exited the room, closing the door gently and sighing.

Despite her seasoned age, she could not deny the youthfulness she always felt when telling the story of Peter Pan as well as her own adventures in Neverland. And to think that it appeared to be the key to unlocking some kind of childhood for Margaret…that made it all the more personal to her. It would do Margaret some to act her age and not worry so much about being a grownup. It was an overrated idea that Wendy couldn't help but have suspicions that it stemmed from the fact that Margaret's mother and father died when she was so young. Such an experience was bound to have some type of affect. Though to possibly have it be the reason of robbing someone's childhood…the thought broke Wendy's heart.

As Wendy reflected on meditated on these thoughts, she began to remember the years after her adventure, and how she let her own ideals of adulthood rob her of happiness. In many ways the path she had chosen was probably the one she was destined to follow, but that did not change the regret she felt the moment she had made her decision. And to be fair, she had found bountiful happiness in the path she had chosen in life. She found complete satisfaction as a mother to both her daughter and granddaughter. However, on more than a few occasions she couldn't help but daydream about what life would have been like if she gave up her life in London to live in Neverland.

Wendy shook her head and sighed. She would never know.


	2. The Teacher

**A/N:** Hello. So, for anyone following this story previously you may have noticed that I deleted the following three chapters to the story that were part of my original attempt to author this story. I realized after posting the rewritten chapter one that any individuals reading the story would be highly confused if they were to read the following chapters, so I deleted them to avoid such discontinuity.

Other than that, I just wanted to say that I'm really excited to dive back into this story and here's chapter 2!

!

"Margaret!" Nana called up the stairs. "Margaret!"

Margaret groaned slightly as she began to rustle in her bed, showing signs of wakefulness. She opened her bleary eyes and rose her head slightly before letting it thud back against her pillow.

"Margaret! You don't want to be late on your first day, do you?" Nana yelled up again. Margaret's eyes snapped open at the realization. She immediately threw off her covers and rocketed out of her room. Her feet pounded against the stairs as she raced down. She slid across the tiled floor into the kitchen, swiftly grabbing a plate of breakfast and seating herself before wolfing down the food.

"Now, Margaret, you are 16-years-ol—there she goes again," Wendy sighed to herself as Margaret had finished her plate completely and disappeared up the stairs. "How will I ever keep up with that child?"

Margaret sprinted back into her room, excitedly grabbing her uniform which she had laid out carefully the night before. She allowed herself a moment to take a bit of pride in the name the uniform bore: "Grim Preparatory School", the most prestigious school in London and only for London's finest students. And to think that she was one of them at all, let alone one of the select few students to join the school at 11, when students could first join. It was a high honor to be in the school at all, but joining at the start of secondary school held another level of prestige all on its own.

A light knock on her door interrupted her musings. Margaret looked over to see her Nana walk in wearing her eternally amused expression. "Taking a moment to admire your finery?"

"I don't think it is at all barmy to take some pride in my current position," Margaret replied jokingly. Nana patted her on the shoulder.

"Of course not. There are many individuals who would be lucky to have a fraction of your brains, including our politicians," Wendy joked. Margaret gasped before lightly poking her grandmother in the shoulder. At realizing her own lapse in mature demeanor, she quickly composed herself.

"I'll need to get dressed," Margaret said. Nana nodded and left the room, shutting the door. Margaret looked back at the school uniform. A white, long-sleeve, button-up shirt with a navy blue, plaid vest as well as a matching navy blue, plaid skirt and white stockings. There was a black tie laid neatly against the folded clothes along with white stockings next to her favorite pair of Mary Jane's. On the vest was the school symbol with the word "Cognitionis" underneath (knowledge in Latin). After a moment she changed into her uniform, swirling her hair into the immaculate bun that was characteristic of all the girls at Grim Prep. Then, she grabbed her school-issued messenger bag before climbing down the stairs and meeting Nana Wendy, who was holding out a brown, paper bag.

"I took the liberty of making your lunch for today. I know you take quite a bit of pride in doing so yourself; however, I figured you would allow me to this once," she said, stroking Margaret's hair. Margaret smiled gratefully at her grandmother before the two shared a hug before her departure. As Margaret walked through the yard to the front gate, she waved back at her grandmother, who was still watching from the window. Finally, Margaret was left to her own devices as she made the relatively timely walk to school.

At first, most of the streets were quite barren. Most of the London public schools didn't begin until the second week of September, which would be next week. Once public school started the streets would be flooded with hooligans riding their bikes dangerously down the street along with the screaming chaos that Margaret always found a particular distaste for. She was perfectly happy for the peace and quiet that came with the first week.

As she neared Grim Prep, she began to spot other serene figures walking with a purposeful but calm pace. All of them were converging towards Grim Prep. And if that weren't enough to identify them the distinct uniforms were a dead giveaway.

Finally, the school came into view. Margaret halted her steps to gather a good long look of the school she'd become so fond of during her years there. It's stately, grayed structure with symmetrical, sharp pillars and perfectly clean windows. The school name was engraved in marble at the entrance of the school. In the courtyard there was a bell that the principal would ring to mark the start of classes in the morning and the end of class in the afternoon, a tradition that was begin at the school's founding.

Gathering a breath of satisfaction, Margaret crossed the street toward the school, where a notable number of students were headed to enter the school. Margaret silently noted that she would need to grab her schedule quickly to avoid being late to her first class. As she approached the stairs to the entrance, a voice called out to her.

"Margaret?"

She looked over to the side to see Principal Nolan standing on the steps to ensure no chaos broke out amongst the students.

"Principal Nolan! It's wonderful to see you!" Margaret smiled. Principal Nolan smiled back at her kindly. He was a man of withered stature: snowy hair and seasoned eyes to boot, but his plump features betrayed an intuitive warmth to every individual he met. Though, don't be fooled, he was perfectly capable of instilling order when it was required.

"I'm very glad to see you back for another year. It's quite unfortunate that I won't have the pleasure of greeting you next year," he noted. Margaret nodded with a bittersweet expression on her face.

"I will miss Grim Prep greatly, but there's not sense in prolonging the inevitable: everyone must grow up!" She replied in both a playful but honest tone. Mr. Nolan chuckled at the statement. It was then that Margaret noticed a peculiar figure standing behind her principal.

Upon seeing Margaret's expression, Mr. Nolan looked back at the figure, suddenly contorting his face into a serious expression and coughing politely.

"Margaret, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Hook, he is the new English teacher for students in the 12th form," he introduced. Mr. Hook was a lanky man, with a sickly pale expression and long, flowing black hair. He wore a particularly manicured mustache on his face, with extended features protruding from his face in awkward positions.

"It…is very nice to meet you Mr. Hook," Margaret said in slow greeting, she held out her hand to shake Mr. Hook's. He looked her over for a moment before slowly reaching his own hand out and shaking hers uncertainly.

With that, Mr. Hook left the two of them without a word, walking into the school.

"Yes, uh, Mr. Hook is not from around here. He says he is from a remote island somewhere, though the name of it is far beyond me," Mr. Nolan said to Margaret. She gave a slow nod, unsure of how to feel about Mr. Hook. He felt…familiar somehow, but she knew perfectly well that she'd never met anyone like him before. He hadn't even offered a verbal greeting! She figured he wasn't trying to be rude, but he was not very skilled at allowing himself a rather amiable first impression.

"Well, I must prepare to ring the bell. I believe you have yet to grab your schedule? You should hurry and do so if you don't want to be late for class," Mr. Nolan advised. Margaret nodded and waved quickly in farewell as she scurried up the stairs and into the school.

!

"Where is he?" A girl in Margaret's English class asked anxiously. One of the boys in the class was standing in the doorway of the classroom searching the halls for their mysteriously disappeared teacher. There was one thing about all teachers at Grim Prep: they are all very, and I do mean _very_ punctual.

"Maybe," Margaret began, smoothing down a stray strand of hair that threatened to cause anarchy in her appearance, "he is lost. After all, I don't believe that he has seen much of the school before today."

The rest of the class nodded their heads, all eager to find a plausible explanation for the strange absence of Mr. Hook. Suddenly, the boy in the doorway rushed back to his seat with a pale expression on his face. Margaret began to open her mouth to ask him if he'd fallen ill, but Mr. Hook boomed into the classroom before she could. Everyone in the class visibly stiffened upon his entrance.

"Take your seats now. If you're not in your seat I'll have to give you a suspension," Mr. Hook greeted in an aggressive and dry voice. Everyone made eye contact with one another at the statement, uncertain if he was joking or not.

"So, class rules. No making any noise whatsoever. No talking at all. Do not move at all unless you are writing—these are standard rules I'm certain you all understand?" He asked, writing down the other rules he neglected to mention on the board in the worst handwriting witnessed at Grim Prep. Another thing about Grim Prep teachers: their handwriting is near perfection.

"Yes," the class answered in unison, though a few of Margaret's peers allowed for tints of confusion to cloud their voices.

Mr. Hook stopped writing abruptly, turning around to give a threatening look. "It seems you did not understand me," he said, lifting up his left…hook. A few people gasped at seeing that a hook replaced the spot where his hand should have been. "What is rule #2?" He asked everyone. Everyone blinked in response, until a girl cleared her throat.

"No talking." She said. Mr. Hook stared at her for a moment before a twisted, sinister smile spread across his face as he approached her.

"I believe I have found the perfect specimen," he said in a low growl. Margaret's heart sped as she watched Mr. Hook walk over to the girl with a predatory demeanor. He grabbed the girl's ear and yanked her out of her chair. The girl at this point began crying and screamed at the action.

"QUIET!"

The girl continued to sob quietly, showing strain in keeping the fear she felt within her. Mr. Hook squatted down, playing with his hook and nearing the sharp point toward her neck. The rest of the class remained frozen in horror at the action, unable to react. The girl's eyes widened as the hook began to get too close. Before she could scream, Mr. Hook stopped, then retracted his arm after a moment.

"I could have done more. But I can't teach an individual who is dead, now can I?" He mused, taking obvious satisfaction in the wide-eyed expressions the class gave him. "It seems I've made myself clear." He then returned his gaze to the girl, who remained trembling on the floor in tears. "Get off of the floor!" He barked. The girl scrambled from her spot to get to her seat, shaking rapidly.

"Now, do you all understand?" He asked. Everyone shook their heads quickly, being absolutely certain to clamp their mouths shut. "Good. Now, turn your textbooks to page 300 and begin reading…"


	3. The Warning

**A/N:** Hiya! I'm going to keep this kind of short, but I want to quickly say that I'm going to change the rating to T as there will be some violence later on. Nothing like super gory or anything, but it won't be PG level either, so be aware of that. (This chapter doesn't have any of the content that the rating change is happening for, but this is a warning in advance).

Enjoy!

!

Margaret took a deep breath as she stood in front of the door proudly marked "Principal's Office". She glanced behind herself to see all of the other 12th years standing there with her. It had been agreed by the end of the school day that all of the 12th years had some substantial concerns over Mr. Hook's competence as a teacher, and as such it was quickly decided that a meeting with Mr. Nolan was imperative. At the toll of the afternoon bell marking dismissal, all of the 12th years gathered in a packed cluster around Mr. Nolan's office door, waiting for the man to arrive back from the bell.

The echo of footsteps alerted them all to his presence, the entire crowd turning to their left to see him pause for a second upon seeing the group. He let out an audible sigh and resumed his trek to his office, the sea of students opening a path for him to walk through.

"Ms. Darling and…company, it is a pleasure to see you," he greeted dryly. The entire group nodded their heads as an acknowledgment toward the greeting. "It seems that you have something very important to tell me, or else I would not see all of you gathered here before me."

"Yes, sir," Margaret said, acting as the speaker of the group.

"Well, then, let us continue this conversation in my office with only _one_ representative if you please," he said, eyeing the rest of the students to stay back. Margaret strode into his office confidently, seating herself in the comfortable guest chair that faced Mr. Nolan's desk. He seated himself tiredly and began to shuffle through the small stack of papers on his desk. Having had enough experience with Mr. Nolan, Margaret knew this was her cue to begin.

"I do hope that we do not come across as impertinent in doing so, sir, but we have some concerns over our English teacher, Mr. Hook." Mr. Nolan continued to work through the papers, stacking them in various piles all over his desk. "As a group we all feel that Mr. Hook's methods…are not reflective of the atmosphere of Grim Preparatory School."

Upon saying those words, Mr. Nolan stopped sifting through the documents on his desk, leaning back into his chair. "Go on."

"Today, he showed up very late to class, almost 15 minutes. Now, to his credit he doesn't appear very familiar with the layout of the school, so he may have been lost. However, he has multiple classes throughout the day, and we are his last class. Unless he had not ventured out from his class during the rest of the day then he should have no excuse to not be punctual. Along with that, he is incredibly strict with his classroom rules and discipline. Now, discipline and order are important in the classroom, but the extent and literal use of his rules are comparatively harsh. And his methods for dealing with an individual who breaks such rules are…an almost criminal offense."

Mr. Nolan thought for a moment, rubbing his chin as he pondered the situation. "What does he do?"

"Well, Mr. Hook has a 'no talking' rule. When he asked the class if we understood his rules, we replied with a verbal yes, to which he began to ask the class the meaning of this rule. A girl replied audibly the meaning…and he proceeded to grab her by the ear and yank her on the floor, threatening her physically with his…hook," Margaret explained slowly, feeling deeply unsettled by the entire affair. Mr. Nolan flinched at the explanation, seemingly enraged at the events that had transpired.

"That is deeply worrying indeed. I believe your word, Ms. Darling, but as protocol states the matter must be investigated. I will see what can be done to make amends."

Margaret smiled wearily, standing up from her chair and giving a nod in farewell. She closed the door to the office to see the wide eyes of everyone in the group who had heard the entire conversation.

"Do you think they'll fire him?" A boy asked Margaret. She thought for a moment.

"I have no idea."

!

"Dear, what on earth is troubling you so much. And don't give me that 'I'm fine' nonsense. You cannot fool me!" Wendy said in a firm voice. Margaret offered a small smile at her Nana, picking at her food with her fork. She couldn't tell the truth; god knows what her grandmother would do if she learned about her English teacher's actions. But what could she say? She didn't want to lie either.

"I'm just…worried about school…that's all. I mean, this year is a very important year. Classes are getting pretty serious, even more so than they did last year. I'm worried I won't be able to measure up. I know it sounds like barmy talk, but it's true," she told Wendy. Wendy seemed to completely accept the answer without hesitation, to her relief.

"My grandchild unable to measure up? What kind of talk is that? If I know anyone that is determined to a fault, that is you. You will be fine. Now, you just need to not drive yourself to wits end with studying and keep your head about you and you'll do very well. Allowing yourself to relax is just as important as working hard," Nana advised, waving her spoon at Margaret animatedly. Margaret managed a slight chuckle from this action, as it was obvious that Wendy was trying to cause a response.

The rest of supper passed uneventfully. Margaret forced herself to engage in lively talk despite her desperate wish to remain quiet throughout. To her luck she finished her plate rather quickly and managed to excuse herself from the table without raising too much suspicion, giving the excuse that she had quite a bit of school work to get working on.

She trudged up the stairs dejectedly, walking into her room and plopping herself onto her bed. Margaret was well aware that Mr. Nolan was being earnest in his promise to investigate the matter of Mr. Hook, but deep down the uneasiness she felt still remained. Something about him didn't sit right with her, and no it wasn't just the hook. His ways of running the class were deeply concerning on more levels than one. But the worst part about it was that there was not guarantee that he would be relieved from his position. For the time being, everyone in the 12th form was stuck with him as a teacher with no end in sight.

Suddenly, Margaret heard a rattling from the window in her room. She sat up, and immediately saw the windows blow wide open in front of her, with a gust of wind blowing in a substantial amount of leaves into her room. Margaret jumped up and ran to the window, sharing a brief battle with it before managing to shut and lock it firmly.

"How peculiar," she remarked to herself, preparing to clean the leaves from her room. However, a strange marking caught her eye. Another moment of observation allowed her to deduce that all of the leaves that blew in had a letter written on it, though the scrawl was barely readable.

Margaret knelt down onto the floor and began to pick up the leaves, laying them out in various arrangements to attempt to read the message.

"D…a…y…n…j…u…r," Margaret said slowly. "Daynjur. Danger?" She asked herself quietly in a low voice. She cocked her head to the side as she considered other letter combinations, though ultimately the majority of them didn't pan out.

"Danger. Someone thinks I'm in danger? Who would write a message like this, let alone the terrible spelling?" Margaret questioned herself slowly. "It doesn't make any sense unless…" she suddenly froze as realization dawned upon her. Could someone be trying to send her a message about Mr. Hook? In context it would make the most sense. But still, who could have done it?

Similar questions swam in Margaret's head as she carried the leaves over to her bed. "I just don't get it," she said finally after another 10 minutes of intense thinking. "I'll have to do some research tomorrow; maybe something will turn up." At that, satisfied with her plan she placed the leaves in one of the drawers in her desk carefully, pressing them in an old notebook of hers before climbing into bed and falling fast asleep.


	4. Halloween

**A/N:** Hello! So, progress on the story is steady. I've definitely begun to work out some dynamic stuff that will come into play later on in the story. But then again, things are going to be hectic at home so I cannot guarantee any consistency on my updates to the story. I will try my best to not leave on a random hiatus, but I won't make any promises.

Part 2 of this: Alright so I guess I left on a random hiatus…again. I kind of forgot about updating due to everything that was going on so…at least I'm back now.

Enjoy.

!

Days passed, then weeks, then a month passed with Mr. Hook still managing to keep his teaching position. On the Monday of each week, all of the 12th year students would line up outside of Mr. Nolan's office for any news regarding the matter. However, most of the time they were shooed without being given any answers whatsoever. It proved to be a very trying time for everyone.

Yet, despite Mr. Hook's strict classroom standards and extreme methods of punishment, all of his classes performed remarkably well in their studies to the chagrin of all of his students, especially Margaret.

Margaret began to dread going to English class with a passion she never felt before. During the class she was the only person ever called upon to answer questions and was always singled out in one way or another. It was pure luck by this point that she'd managed to answer every single question correctly, but deep down she knew one day she'd answer wrong and she didn't want to find out what would happen if she did.

On top of all that, the leaf message she received did not help her feelings toward Mr. Hook. There wasn't much she could find on a "Mr. Hook" in many of the public records. In actuality it almost appeared that he didn't exist at all, according to the legal records of the state. This was a source of major frustration for Margaret, which again didn't help her feelings and performance in Mr. Hook's class.

After another afternoon spent sifting through nearly all of the books at the Grim Prep library, Margaret sighed and gave up for the day, beginning her dejected trek home. The clouds hung low in the sky, causing her to pull out her black umbrella and hurry her pace. She couldn't afford to catch a cold or anything worse; after all, she didn't want to fall behind in her classes.

As she scurried down the sidewalk, light droplets began to splatter on the ground. At first, they were few and far between, but they quickly turned more rapid and harsh. Margaret began to jog at this point, hoping to reach the warmth of her home as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, a large gust of wind blew Margaret back onto the ground, causing her to lose her grip on her umbrella. In horror she watched it fly away in the wind quickly, with no hope of being able to retrieve it. Margaret quickly scrambled up from the ground and found a nearby shop front to stand under for protection from the pounding rain that blew in cascading torrents.

It was in the midst of this rain that Margaret looked over to her left in the direction of her home to see a faint figure standing near an alleyway. Margaret narrowed her eyes, squinting to get a better look. Water dripped from her stringy hair at this point, rolling down her back uncomfortably as she remained staring at the figure. The figure slowly walked into the alleyway, though it was obvious from the silhouette that she saw that the figure was looking back at her. Without thinking she immediately ran out into the rain with her feet soaking wet, turning left to head into the alley. She froze upon seeing that nobody was there. Frantically, she scanned in all of the directions around her, ensuring that the figure had disappeared for certain. That was when a faint shadow caught her eye in the sky.

Margaret cast her gaze upward to see…something flying away into the distance. It appeared too large to be a bird, but what could it have been? Margaret shook her head, only to find the flying…thing had disappeared.

"I really must be acting barmy right now," she muttered to herself, pulling her vest closer to her as she realized how cold she was. Having already reached the point of no return in regard to the how soaked she was, she sprinted out of the alley and in the direction of her home.

!

"Hmm," Margaret said to herself in deep thought as she sifted though the clothes in her wardrobe. "Too modern. That's not even a nightgown. Too old. Not natural enough," she muttered. Wendy knocked lightly on Margaret's door, entering quietly.

"What are you up to, dear?" She asked her gently. Margaret looked up and smiled sheepishly at the mess of clothes in her room.

"Well, tomorrow is Halloween in America. As an initiative to help us students at Grim Prep learn more about international cultures, they are asking that we dress up in some sort of costume for the occasion. I'm trying to find an outfit that is a late 19th century early 20th century nightgown," she explained to her Nana. Wendy nodded slowly at the explanation, scanning the clothes that Margaret had laid out. "Unfortunately, I can't seem to find anything that fits the bill."

Wendy smiled gently at her granddaughter. "Well, you might be in luck. I happen to have some of my nightgowns from when I was a little girl myself. How about you look at what I have see if any of them fit you?"

"Really? Thank you so much Nana!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Wendy. Wendy led Margaret to her room, having her stand aside as she retrieved an old chest from underneath her bed. Upon opening it, many old pieces of clothing were found neatly folded in it. Wendy carefully dug through the chest, finding an old nightgown near the bottom of it.

"Ah, this is the one!" She said in triumph, holding it up for Margaret to see. The nightgown was a light blue dress with a darker blue ribbon above the hip. The sleeves were short and slightly puffed out, something very characteristic of older pieces of clothing. Margaret touched the fabric gently in awe.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. Wendy's smile brightened.

"You know, it's actually the dress I wore the night I went on my adventure with Peter Pan," Wendy told Margaret after a moment of thought. Margaret smiled at her grandmother fondly at the statement.

Of course, Margaret knew the stories about Peter Pan weren't true. It was a wonder that her grandmother still pretended they were true after all of these years. However, it was something that brightened her day and eased the burdens of growing up, so she never complained. In fact, Margaret admired the imagination her grandmother had to come up with such stories.

"Well, make sure that this fits. Also, if you so wish, I believe that I have the perfect hairstyle to complement this dress. It is the hairstyle I always wore to bed when I was young."

Margaret smiled widely at Wendy. "I would adore that, truly."

!

Margaret stood in front of the full-length mirror downstairs, carefully fiddling with her hair, ensuring that the curls didn't unfurl. After a moment, she gave a quick twirl, allowing the nightgown to swirl in response to the movement. The outfit was truly perfect. And for some unexplainable reason Margaret couldn't help but be excited about the school day ahead. Nana walked up to Margaret, smiling down at her.

"It is like looking into a mirror," she commented. Margaret beamed, looking down at the floor quickly.

"I don't know why, but I feel so excited about wearing this nightgown. It's truly beautiful," Margaret said, twirling again.

"It looks quite becoming on you."

Margaret looked up at her Nana, giving another quick grin and a hug before gathering her messenger bag and her lunch. "I do not plan on staying after school today, but if I need to, I'll be certain to get Mr. Nolan to ring you," she told Wendy. Wendy acknowledged the plan before the two waved at one another before Margaret left.

She trotted down the street in a strangely content mood, feeling the slight breeze in the air cause her skirt to dance slightly. The sky was a particularly foreign blue, with no cloud in sight, uncharacteristic of London weather. A few birds chirped up and down the street, providing a nice background compared to the unintelligible chatter Margaret normally heard from the public-school students she walked by in the morning.

Soon enough, Margaret arrived at school along with many of her classmates, all of them dressed in an array of strange garb. One student had dressed up as the headless horseman, another as a simple ghost, and one even had dressed up in a clown outfit. A few of Margaret's classmates caught sight of her outfit and made a point of complimenting her appearance profusely, which both surprised and delighted Margaret greatly.

Upon walking up the steps toward the main entrance, Margaret caught sight of Mr. Hook taking a careful interest in her as she walked up, causing her to pause briefly. Mr. Hook was dressed in an elaborate pirate costume, filled with elegant reds that spun into intricate gold patterns that laced throughout the outfit. He also wore an oversized hat with a particularly large, white feather jutting out from it.

For reasons Margaret couldn't explain, along with the fear she normally experienced when seeing Mr. Hook, she felt a strange familiarity at the sight in front of her, unsettling her even more.

Suddenly, she snapped out of her trance, running up the steps and scurrying as fast as she could into the school, praying silently that Mr. Hook's class would go by fast.


	5. Hook

**A/N:** Hello! So, I just published Chapter 4 a couple minutes ago. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to get out chapter 5 as I'm not certain how things will go in the story atm (I have some of the later events planned out, but bridging to those events will be a slight struggle).

Anyway, for the few people that have taken the time to read my fanfiction, I just want to thank you profusely for reading and for your patience. I don't normally do this, but if you are enjoying the story or if you have some constructive criticisms, I would love it if you would write a review. The former shows me that I'm not the only one enjoying this passion project and the latter helps me greatly in becoming a better, more engaging writer as I still have a lot to learn.

Anyway, thanks for reading this extended author's note, and please enjoy chapter 5.

!

"Now, who could tell me what 'hurlyburly' means in Macbeth?" Mr. Hook asked the class in a low growl. No one raised their hand, as at this point it was common knowledge that he already had an individual in mind to answer the question. His eyes locked on Margaret's, causing her to inwardly sigh before she stood up to answer the question. She waited patiently for Mr. Hook to allow himself enough of an absence of his ego to give her permission to speak instead of lavishing in the sound of his own voice. "…You have permission to speak," he said, after staring her down for a moment.

"The word 'hurlyburly', as used in Macbeth was a term meant to refer to a promotion of sorts," Margaret replied simply. She would have liked to delve further into the meaning of the word, its origins, along with controversies surrounding its nature. However, Mr. Hook only liked a brief and simplistic answer to the questions he asked, and as such Margaret had to inwardly flinch at all of the imperative missed information on the subject. She remained standing for a few more seconds, waiting for Mr. Hook to give her permission to sit down. Mr. Hook to writing down the definition on the board before giving her said permission.

"That was quite wordy, Ms. _Darling_ , as everything that comes out of your mouth is. But it is correct, as always," he commented in a smug voice. Margaret stiffened her jaw in annoyance but made certain to not let it translate into her facial expression. Mr. Hook was always very touchy about any grumpy expressions or any other faces that even bordered one of anger or annoyance.

Most of the class at this point took to glancing at the clock that hung over the chalk board in the room. The hand couldn't have appeared to be moving any slower, as only 5 minutes were left in class. The energy became anxious as everyone hoped and prayed for class to end.

"While I wish we could have covered more of Macbeth, we will have to stop for the time being, as I have _quizzes_ to hand back," he said in a threatening voice. Everyone stiffened up at the mention of their recent quiz over Hamlet. It was a particularly difficult quiz, and almost everyone was convinced that they had failed it. However, as quizzes were passed out, the faces of Margaret's classmates lit up in joy as nearly everyone appeared to have received a perfect score. Relief washed over Margaret for a brief while before Mr. Hook stopped by her desk, making a point of handing over her quiz. Upon seeing her score, Margaret's mouth fell open in shock.

 _0%_

Margaret read and reread the score over and over again, unable to believe how badly she'd done. She quickly turned around and made a motion to the classmate behind for permission to compare their quizzes. Margaret compared the answers they had put, realizing that they had put the exact same answers down. But…how then could she have gotten nothing right?

Similar questions swam around in her head as she began to feel a slight edge of dizziness poke at her. Everyone else had received a 100 in the class. Why did she not get a 100?

Out of the blue, the bell tolled, marking the end of class. Margaret remained frozen in her seat as the rest of the class spilled out of the room as fast as they could, eager to leave Mr. Hook's domain. After another minute of remaining unmoving, Margaret shook her head before scrambling up from her seat and rushing out of class as Mr. Hook stared at her with a heated glare.

Margaret took about 10 steps down the hall, staring at the quiz paper intensely before stopping. She glanced back at the door to Mr. Hook's room in consideration. Could she even dare to do it?

She bit her lip nervously, glancing down at the quiz score. It taunted her with such a fire that Margaret struck a spark of determination within her. She confidently strode back to Mr. Hook's class, lightly knocking on the doorway. Mr. Hook was seated at his desk, with his feat up on it in a relaxed position. Upon her entrance, he glared at Margaret before removing his feet and staring at her.

"What do you want?" He asked in a low growl. Margaret pursed her lips before motioning for permission to speak. "Oh, stop it with the hieroglyphic hand motions, yes you can speak!" He spat.

"Mr. Hook…I came to ask you about my quiz grade," Margaret said in the most calming voice she could muster. She did her best to not hint at the fact that any error was made on his part, as she knew his ego wouldn't be able to handle it.

Suddenly, Mr. Hook's face broke into a…sinister grin. "Ah, yes, of course. I was expecting you."

Margaret felt her face turn pale at the sudden shift in Mr. Hook's demeanor. Despite him motioning for her to step into the room, Margaret felt highly reluctant to do so. Her brief hesitation seemed to infuriate Mr. Hook, who made a particularly wild and demanding gesture for her to step in. Against her best judgement, Margaret stepped into the room, being certain to remain as close to the doorway as possible without appearing rude.

"If you really are anxious about your grade, don't fret," Mr. Hook said from the back of the classroom as he poured what looked like rum into a shot glass. "You got a perfect score like everyone else. I just put that grade down as an excuse to speak with you."

The red flags that Margaret was gathering from her brief interaction with Mr. Hook nearly caused her to bolt out of the room immediately. However, she cleared her throat before daring to speak. "You could have just as easily wrote a note asking me to speak with you after class," Margaret said, daring to question his actions. He only smiled at her with that terrifying smile.

"Maybe, I could have, Ms. Darling. But I find that my methods are far more… _effective_ , than others." Margaret stood still for a moment as she watched Mr. Hook drink a couple of shots of the rum quickly. She turned her head away in discomfort at the sight. "You see, Ms. Darling, I wonder if you truly recognize me at times. That flicker of recognition appears more often than you let on."

Margaret contorted her face into a look of confusion, completely vexed as to what he was saying. "Pardon, sir?"

Mr. Hook only looked over at her in annoyance. "Oh, don't toy with me. I know who you are, and you know who I am. You just don't want to believe it," he said, pounding down another shot.

Margaret felt herself subtly inch toward the door. "I beg your pardon, believe what?" She asked, attempting to draw attention away from the fact that she was about to bolt out of the room.

"I can't believe you have convinced yourself not to believe. But I guess that could be an advantage. After all Jane nearly helped me in my attempts at victory over Pan," he mused to himself, only confusing frightening Margaret more. Did he mean…Peter Pan? And her mother? No, it couldn't be. He was just saying random gibberish. Suddenly, Mr. Hook's head snapped over to look at Margaret. "What are you doing?" He asked, upon noticing Margaret's place near the door. Finding herself unable to speak, Margaret bolted out of the door with the pounding footsteps of Mr. Hook behind her. "COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH!" He yelled down the hallway. Margaret turned her head back to look at Mr. Hook, horrified.

"Oh my god somebody HELP ME!" She screamed down the hallway. "HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Margaret screamed breathlessly as she continued to run for her life. Margaret weaved through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to throw Mr. Hook off. But, much to her terror, he managed to continue following Margaret. Margaret made a sharp left turn toward the main hallway, only to run into a person at full force.

"I'm so sorry! Oh god, please help me! He's chasing after me!" Margaret cried in a horrified shriek. She had yet to glance at the figure she had run into in the momentary shock she felt. However, when she looked up, she scrambled away in fear as she saw Mr. Hook arrive next to the person she collided into: a short, plump man with a white beard and glasses.

"GET HER MR. SMEE!" Mr. Hook barked. The man, who Margaret now knew to be Mr. Smee, immediately grabbed hold of her arms in conjunction with Mr. Hook. The two of them together hoisted Margaret off of the ground, who at this point was kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs. Mr. Smee managed to grab a bag out of his pocket, which he quickly shoved over Margaret's head, muffling her screams slightly.

"NO! LET ME GO YOU BASTARDS! I SAID LET ME GO, PLEASE!" Margaret screamed as they carried her away from the main entrance.

"She'll only be trouble, Smee. We need to dispose of her," Mr. Hook growled.

"B-but Cap'n, Pan knows about the g-girl," Smee stuttered.

"Does that make any difference?!" He snapped back.

"P-Pan might try to save the girl," Smee tried to explain.

"Well, then that'll allow us to finally capture him! Now stop stuttering you old fool and help me dispose of her!" Hook ordered in a demanding voice.

All the while, Margaret screamed and yelled as loud as she could, hoping desperately that she would catch the attention of one of the school staff. However, no such luck was on her side. As soon enough they were on the second floor of the school in one of the empty classrooms. They quickly bound Margaret to a chair, with the bag still over her head. Margaret tried her best not to tremble as to not show the overwhelming fear that she felt. She felt them carry her away from the place she was, and based on the dialogue between Hook and Smee she surmised they planned on throwing her out of a window. Margaret frantically struggled against the rope that kept her bound to the chair, even attempting to untie the ropes. However, she was too tightly bound to be able to escape.

"On three, we toss her out," Hook said. Smee nodded at the command, readying himself to do so.

"Three…Two…"

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" Margaret screamed.

"What is it you little brat?!" Hook demanded.

"If you're going to throw me off can you at least take the bag off?" Margaret asked desperately. "They might be able to trace the bag back to you if I'm dead," she reasoned to the best of her ability.

Hook and Smee paused for a moment, before Hook roughly yanked off the bag. Without warning, Hook began the countdown again.

"Three…Two…"

"WAIT!" Margaret shouted again. Hook looked angry enough to slit her throat at that moment. "Please, if you're going to kill me can you at least not keep me tied to the chair? It will be easier to hide my body if you do," Margaret explained. In all honesty it was just a nonsense point of reasoning, but she would do anything to delay her death and increase her chance of escape.

Hook looked completely unwilling to give in to the suggestion, however, Smee gingerly began to untie the knots. Hook glared at Smee for a moment before partaking in the same process, the both of them grabbing her firmly by the arms.

"On my command, for the FINAL TIME! THREE…TWO…ONE!" Margaret was thrown out of the window from the second floor of Grim Prep. She screamed bloody murder as she went through her descent, feeling her the air whip past her and her dress. Margaret watched in horror as the ground quickly became all too large. In what she knew would be her last moments, she closed her eyes in acceptance of her fate.

She felt herself crash against something hard. Margaret felt herself take a sharp inhale, but there wasn't any pain. Hesitantly, Margaret felt herself open her eyes, only to see that the ground appeared small. In disbelief she craned her head up to see that she was being carried in the arms of a…boy? Her arms were wrapped around his neck, with his own arms carrying the rest of her body.

"I've got you. You're safe," the boy said upon seeing the frantic expression on Margaret's face. In her shock, she found herself unable to speak completely. The boy had red hair and stunning eyes, all capped off with a…strangely familiar green hat. Margaret's trance was broken a loud _boom_ sounded from behind them.

"Hold on!" The boy shouted. Margaret hung onto him tighter as the boy began to rocket forward. It wasn't until Margaret looked down that she realized they were…flying?!

A cannonball flew past the two of them as the boy continued to fly at an increasingly faster speed. Margaret began to take in heavy and shaky breaths as the overwhelming reality of what was going on slammed into her.

"What the _hell_ is going on?!" Margaret demanded as another cannonball flew past them. "Who are you?"

The boy's head snapped down to her upon hearing those questions. "Wendy, don't you remember me?" He asked, stopping in the air.

Margaret shook her head with her mouth agape. "I'm not WenDY—WATCH OUT!" She screamed midsentence as a cannonball flew right at the pair. That was when she saw the pirate ship hovering over Grim Prep ominously, the source of all of the cannonballs. The boy resumed his lightspeed flight toward nowhere, as Margaret clung onto him for dear life, wondering what the hell was going.


	6. Neverland

**A/N:** Hello lovely readers! So, I'm starting to write this chapter a day after I posted both chapters 4 and 5. Hopefully I get it out to you guys today, but as I'm starting to get to some parts of the story that I've yet to really figure out, progress will likely be slow. Thank you, guys, for your patience and for your viewership. Once again, while I don't normally ask for reviews/constructive criticisms, I would very much appreciate it if you would indulge me in either of those actions, (or even better, both).

Please enjoy.

!

Margaret and the boy continued their frightening flight into the distance as London grew increasingly small, to Margaret's horror. As much as she desperately wished to gain a better grasp of the overwhelming situation put before her, she was too shocked to be able to say or do anything during the frantic flight.

Despite many close run-ins with the cannonballs flying at the two of them, the boy masterfully weaved in and out of the flurry that shot at them, managing to use the clouds at some points to better camouflage the pair.

It was during one of these points of cover that a ball of light shot toward the boy and Margaret. "Oh, there you are Tink! Where were you, I thought you were right behind me!" He said to the ball of light. Margaret blinked in shock, questioning the mental sanity of her current situation. However, the ball of light emitted some high-pitched bell sounds in what Margaret assumed to be a response. "You're right, good idea!" The boy replied, immediately scanning his surroundings quickly.

Finally getting over her shock somewhat, Margaret found the courage within herself to speak. "Um, I'm sorry but you still have not told me what is going ON!" She screamed as the boy launched them into the distance at a frighteningly fast speed. The ball of light kept pace beside them, emitting a distinct trail of dust behind it. As Margaret stared straight forward wide-eyed, she suddenly began to see a form in the distance.

At first, she only thought that it must have been an airplane, or something of the sort. However, as the form grew larger and larger, she began to realize that it wasn't a plane…but it was an _island_.

"We gotta hurry, Tink, or else the pirates will find the hideout!" He said to the ball of light. Again, the light gave a few twinkling sounds in response, before flying ahead of Margaret and the boy. "Tell them to get ready for the pirates if they come!" The boy shouted after the light. The distant sounds of cannon shots were the only sound that could be heard as the boy began a rapid and frantic descent toward the overgrowth that took over the entire island.

"Um, what are you doing? It seems like we're descending rather fast," Margaret observed, panic gripping at the edge of her voice. The boy remained unresponsive to the panic that Margaret felt, only appearing to go down faster in response.

"We're going to crash!" Margaret shouted as they suddenly came frighteningly close to one of the trees. As Margaret braced herself for impact, they grazed past the leaves, somehow managing to enter into an empty portion of the surrounding jungle.

The boy lifted himself into an upright position as he slowly floated down onto the ground. Immediately upon his feet touching it, Margaret scrambled out of his grip, falling onto the ground in a large pile of dust. She jumped up from the ground as quickly as she could, trying to move as far away from the boy as possible.

"Ok…since we're done…bloody _flying_ , what the _bloody hell_ was that about?! Who are you?! Where are we?!" Margaret demanded as she resumed a defensive position against one of the trees.

The boy took a step toward her, but Margaret snatched a large branch from the ground and pointed it at him, preparing to defend herself.

"You're safe, alright. Just calm down—"

"I will not _bloody_ calm down until I get some _bloomin_ answers!" Margaret retorted in a snappy tone. The boy sighed, as pounding footsteps approached the clearing. Suddenly, a small army of boys burst into the clearing, all of them carrying weapons of various kinds. Margaret raised the branch into a batting position in preparation to fight the group of lads before her. However, before the situation could intensify, the boy held up his hands to calm everyone down.

"Lost boys, this is Wendy—"

"For the _last time_ , I AM NOT WENDY!" Margaret shouted at the group. "AND YOU HAVEN'T ANSWERED ANY OF MY QUESTIONS!"

The group of boys, now to Margaret's knowledge called the Lost Boys, all blinked at her, confused as to the situation they found themselves in. "How is she not Wendy?" One of the Lost Boys asked the boy. "She looks exactly like her."

"Maybe it's Jane," one of the other Lost Boys chimed in hopefully. As the other Lost Boys speculated Margaret's identity, Margaret began to realize that many of these names and…terms were sounding quite familiar to her. Lost Boys, Tink, Wendy, Jane, Hook, Smee. Suddenly, she snapped her head in the boy's direction, gathering a long drink of his appearance. "Red hair, brown eyes, green outfit," Margaret muttered under her breath. Then, she let out a loud gasp, stumbling backward into the tree. Everyone turned to look at her as slid onto the ground, staring at the boy wide-eyed.

"You—you're—oh bloody hell you're Peter Pan!" She exclaimed breathlessly, inwardly pounding herself for not having realized it sooner.

"So, you do remember me now, Wendy?" He asked Margaret hopefully.

"I've told you already, I'm not Wendy!" Margaret told him in an exhausted voice. "My name is Margaret, and I'm Jane's daughter and Wendy's granddaughter," she explained to everyone, highly frustrated they insisted on thinking she was Wendy. Everyone in the group stared at her with their mouths agape. "And, since apparently, you're either real or I'm dreaming, how in the world could I be Wendy? Didn't you have an adventure with my mother?" She questioned the group incredulously. They all thought about the discontinuity for a moment, before looking back at her blankly. "Oh, bloody hell," she groaned to herself, dropping the branch and rubbing her temples with both her hands.

"Well, Wen—I mean Margaret, then why was Hook going after you?" Peter Pan asked her, arms crossed.

"Didn't I just inform the lot of you that my mother is Jane, and my grandmother is Wendy? Hook would be more than happy to carry out revenge on our family through me, since, after all, I'm related to two of the people he hates most," Margaret explained once again.

"Alright, then why are you dressed like that?" Peter Pan questioned further. "Only Wendy would dress like that."

"We were celebrating Halloween at my school…" Margaret began, before realizing most of the boys didn't know what she meant. She sighed, completely frustrated at the stupidity of the group before her. "There is a celebration of sorts that is held somewhere, and our school decided to celebrate it. This celebration requires that people wear a costume. I hope to goodness you lot know what a costume is?" Upon seeing the blank expressions of the group, Margaret sighed and continued on. "A costume is a piece of clothing that you wear to look like something or someone from a different time period or from a story. Anyway, I chose for my celebration to look like a girl from Wendy's time," Margaret finished explaining. The group, while reluctant to accept that Margaret was indeed not Wendy, finally nodded in acceptance after a few moments of thought.

"Ok, so I guess you're not Wendy, then," Peter Pan decided. Margaret rolled her eyes, unamused at the lengthy process it took just to relay her own identity. She could only imagine how inefficient the group was in completing other tasks of importance.

"Yes, since you _finally_ came to that conclusion, I think it best that the lot of you help me get home," Margaret stated firmly. The group looked at each other for a second before Peter stepped forward.

"Margaret, I don't think we'll be able to do that."

"What do you mean? After all, you were the one who bloody flew me here in the first place. You cannot tell me that you cannot fly me back home," Margaret retorted with arms crossed.

"I can fly," Peter said defensively. "But, it's too dangerous to take you home."

"Too dangerous? You must be barmy."

"I'm not 'barmy'. If we were to fly out now, Hook and his crew would be able to locate the hideout. I have the Lost Boys to think about," he explained further, eyeing for the Lost Boys to leave the pair alone for the time being. They took the hint, and quickly slinked into the shadows.

Margaret just shook her head, feeling her face turn stony. "You don't understand. Nana will be worried about me."

"Nana?" Peter asked, perplexed as to who Margaret was referring to.

"Grandma Wendy!" Margaret shouted again in frustration. She took a moment to calm herself down by breathing deeply. "She's old. If I worry her too much, it won't bode well for her health. The last time I made her worry she almost collapsed."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, unused to confrontational situations such as this. "The best thing you could do right now is stay here for the time being."

"You were the one to bring me here! I didn't ask to be brought to Neverland; I need to be at home with my Nana!" Margaret insisted. "If you won't help me, I'll find a way to get off of this bloody island myself!" Margaret began to storm off into the thick overgrowth, but was stopped by Peter, who grabbed ahold of her arm.

"I can't let you leave."

"Let go of my arm right now! I've asked you many times and you won't help me. Nana needs me; I can't abandon her!" She said, beginning to fight against his grip. Peter wrapped his arms around the best of her body, causing a loud and vocal protest from Margaret. "LET ME GO! YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS THAT BLOODY PIRATE! I SAID LET ME GO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME STAY HERE! NANA NEEDS ME! DO YOU HEAR ME?! MY NANA NEEDS ME!" Margaret screamed as she thrashed against Peter's grip. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed in fear for her grandmother.

The Lost Boys quickly reappeared with the ball of light, who Margaret guessed was supposed to be the fairy Tinkerbell. The fairy approached Margaret quickly to where she was close enough for Margaret to gather a firsthand look at the fairy's appearance. The fairy was just as her grandmother described: blond hair whipped in a bun, pale skin, hot heated, and of course, she adorned that green little dress that Nana had always talked about. Had Margaret been in a different situation she would have been in awe of all of these details. However, she was too busy trying to get off of the island that she couldn't have cared less.

Suddenly, an overwhelming sleepiness fell over Margaret, as she realized that a load of pixie dust had been unloaded on her, though the purpose of the pixie dust was unknown to her at this point. Her frantic thrashing slowed as she became increasingly drowsy. She suddenly lost all of the energy in her legs to stand, feeling herself begin to fall to the ground. Instead of the hardness of the ground, she was felt with the softness of another person catching her. Margaret scarcely had time to look up and make out a blurry figure with red hair looking over her before her eyes closed and she fell asleep.


	7. In the Hideout

**A/N:** Hiya! So, I just published chapter 6 and of course at the time I'm writing this I'm starting on this chapter: chapter 7. I hope you guys like the story so far. If you had read the story in its previous state, before I overhauled the first couple of chapters, I'd hope that you would have noticed an improvement over elements of the story this time around. I'm definitely prouder of the work that I've published thus far, and the story feels like it's forming more to the original vision that I had when I first attempted writing it.

Anyway, thanks again for choosing to read this story and enjoy chapter 7.

 **IMPORTANT NOTE:** So, after doing some research, I realized that Tootles doesn't speak (it's been quite a while since I've watched the Disney film). In this story, Tootles will be able to speak. Also, I don't exactly know the geography of the area around Hangman's Tree (due to again, me not having watched the Disney film which this is primarily inspired from in a while and also it not being something hugely established in film as well), so most of it will probably be somewhat made up.

!

Margaret remained unmoving and stoic as she stared straight ahead from her place in the hideout. At this point she couldn't be bothered to keep track of time anymore; it was pointless. Her grandmother was probably already dead from worry, all because of that arrogant twat. Now that she thought about it, it disgusted Margaret that she had ever even been so interested in the story of Peter Pan. In Margaret's expert opinion Peter Pan was a level 100 bastard and the most perfect arsehole.

When Margaret had originally woken up, she found herself alone in the hideout, though upon some inspection it turned out that the Peter and company had dedicated a rather luxurious space to her in the hideout for her to rest, though that did little to sway Margaret's opinion of Peter.

Well, alright she knew she was being a tad bit unreasonable. Peter wasn't really a bad person as far as she could tell. He was actually quite patient with her, despite her difficult nature upon arriving in Neverland. But he needed to understand the importance of allowing her to go home to Nana. Didn't he love Wendy at one point or something? Shouldn't that make him more compelled to do _something_ about letting her go home?

Margaret sighed as she found herself torn between a million different streams of thought, unable to focus on one particularly. Not that it should have been surprising. Ever since she woke up, she found herself uncomfortably scatterbrained. For a brief while she had thought that she'd officially become barmy, but after some more thought she just surmised it was the stress of the situation at hand.

Of course, the worst part about everything is that she was in a completely foreign environment. Sure, she'd been told stories since she was a little girl about Peter Pan and Neverland, but hearing about a place and being there are two completely different things. And everything was more awkward due to the way the Lost Boys acted around her. They all made a pointed effort to not make eye contact with her, and wouldn't speak to her, as if doing so would set off a ticking bomb. Margaret knew the impression she made upon arriving in Neverland was by far her worst, but it hurt her a little bit that everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around her.

A sound from outside the hideout interrupted her internal thoughts, causing her to tilt her head to catch a glimpse of the entrance. After a few seconds of shuffling, Peter Pan entered the room. Margaret immediately turned her head away from him, still very much so angry at him. He walked over to her, and kneeled down to sit at the same level as her, taking off his hat. One of the Lost Boys followed in soon after Peter came in, and chose to sit on the other side of the room from the two.

"Wen—Margaret…uh…the pirates are still thick around the island. They're a bit close by, so I won't be able to take you home just yet," Peter said, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck.

Margaret finally turned her head to look at him briefly before turning her attention to the Lost Boy at the other end of the room. "I do apologize that I do not know your name, Lost Boy, but would you do me the utmost honors of informing Peter Pan that I would be quite happy if he was caught by the pirates," she said, turning her head upon finishing at Peter. The Lost Boy looked at Margaret with wide eyes before looking over at Peter. Peter sighed deeply before standing up and putting back on his hat and lowering the front a little to shade more of his eyes. He then walked out of the hideout.

Margaret closed her eyes and sighed as tears managed to squeeze out of them again. She leaned her head against the tree behind her (since after all the hideout was in Hangman's Tree). Instead of leaving, the Lost Boy cautiously approached Margaret, before sitting down in front of her. Margaret couldn't find it in her heart to ask the boy to go away, so she studied him carefully as he looked at her with those frightened eyes.

Margaret recalled that this one in particular was the smallest of the bunch, adorning a small skunk outfit that appeared to be a type of onesie. Margaret recalled Wendy's mention of this one in particular, and as such remembered that his name was Tootles.

"Are you Tootles?" Margaret asked in a gentle voice. The boy jumped at the sudden question before reluctantly nodding. "You know, Nana—Wendy, she…she remembers you," she told him softly. Tootles beamed at the news. "I'm sorry for my rudeness upon coming here. I have my reasons for it, but I would only be excusing my poor behavior."

Tootles thought for a moment before speaking. "Well, I'm certain that if you care an awful lot about somebody, it's hard when you are away from them," he said to Margaret in deep thought. Margaret felt herself smile at the statement, realizing the maturity he had for someone who seemed so young.

"You're right. But all the same, the lot of you have only been patient and kind in hosting me here, and I've been a terrible guest. I do hope that everyone isn't _too_ frightened of me."

Tootles quickly shook his head. "No, they're not frightened of you. Peter was the one who told them to be cautious around you," he explained to Margaret. Margaret pursed her lips and gave a single nod, inwardly rolling her eyes at Peter.

"Well, as much as I must question his logic, I cannot fault that my own behavior wouldn't dispute his most plausible reasoning."

Tootles stared at her blankly. "I couldn't understand what half of those words meant," he said in awe. Margaret chuckled lightly.

"Sorry, it's a habit of mine. Never mind me. I do wonder, however, where the rest of the Lost Boys are," Margaret said quietly, tapping her chin.

"Oh, I know! They're all on lookout right now. Since Hook disappeared, all of the pirates have been searching the island, so it's been hard to leave the hideout. And especially now, since Peter knows you want to go home, lookout has been our top priority."

Margaret blinked before blushing sheepishly. "Well, that's quite kind of him. I do hope that it hasn't been too much trouble for the lot of you?"

"No, not at all! Though, if we're honest we miss being able to fight with the pirates more frequently. But there's so many of them now…it's too dangerous," Tootles explained. Margaret nodded, trying to wear a warm expression on her face to comfort the edge of fear that Tootles appeared to feeling.

"Well, from what I've been told, the lot of you have always been able to pull through. I don't believe in my heart that this will be any different," Margaret told Tootles honestly. Tootles chewed on the thought for a moment before nodding. At that moment, Tinkerbell bolted into the room and flew over to Tootles, tugging on his onesie.

"Alright, alright, Tink! I get it!" He groaned, standing up. "I have to go back and do lookout, Margaret. I'll see you later!" At that, he rushed out of the entrance to Hangman's Tree, disappearing in the jungle. Margaret watched him leave, feeling a sadness and anxiousness settle into her stomach after he disappeared. So far, he was her only friend in Neverland. While Margaret was accustomed to being alone on her own accord, it did not befit her to be alone in such a foreign place. She had hoped that she would be able to converse with Tootles longer, but of course, that wasn't the case. It was remarkable to her how independent he was for being so young and small.

She sighed, taking a moment to look around the hideout. It was definitely a sight to see: clothes were strewn all over the floor with the majority of them having holes in them, beds were unmade, the turtle shells that Margaret assumed were used for dishes hadn't been cleaned for quite some time, and dirt was tracked throughout the hideout's entirety.

"This place is quite a dive," Margaret commented to herself. Seeing as she had nothing else to do, Margaret decided to clean up the hideout. She pulled out all of the clips that had been used for the hairstyle she wore for her costume, allowing her hair to cascade down her shoulders and back in waves. After a quick search, she managed to find a pouch in the hideout that no one appeared to be using, so she quickly wrapped it around her waist and stuffed the slips inside of there for when she returned home.

She first began with finding a cloth and scrubbing the interior to remove all of the stray dirt tracks that had accumulated over time before attending to the beds. Margaret was horrified to find that the sheets were dirty, so she stripped all of the beds and found a basket to place all of the sheets in. She gathered all of the clothes strewn on the floor and placed them in the same basket before she chose to venture outside with them. Upon stepping out of Hangman's Tree, Margaret carefully scanned the scenery for a nearby body of water. Luckily, adjacent to the tree was a small pond that looked suitable to do the cleaning in. She walked over to the pond and placed the basket down before she searched for some soap. A quick search inside the hideout proved fruitful, as she found three bars of soap in one of the cupboards. Then, she began cleaning.

Margaret scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed all of the clothing and sheets, separating the clothes and sheets that needed sewing from the others. After finishing she found two poles and a rope to hang the clothes from so they could dry. Since there weren't any clips available, Margaret used the hair clips she had saved from her hair to do the job. Upon finishing that, Margaret went back inside and grabbed all of the turtle shells and cleaned them in the pond before drying them with a spare cloth and putting the dishes away.

After putting the dishes away, Margaret realized that there were no signs of any silverware in the hideout. She allowed herself a quick sift, which all told confirmed her worries. "Bloody hell," she groaned to herself. "Have they been eating with their hands? I mean, yes it's common in some cultures, but…" Margaret shook her head. "Hm, if I had a knife and some sticks, I could try to make some. I don't have any experience but having a go at it couldn't hurt."

At that, Margaret searched close by Hangman's Tree and found a plethora of small twigs and sticks that she then took inside. She quickly found a small knife and some twine that she planned to use as a way of making some silverware for the boys. Margaret chose to sit outside for this endeavor, as she didn't want to get any shavings on the floor of hideout since she just cleaned it.

Margaret focused intensely on the job at hand, carefully carving out the twigs and sticks that she found. However, Margaret quickly found out that she had very little idea as to what she was doing, and soon after she gave up on the project. She hoped that one of the Lost Boys was good at carving so then she could ask them to teach her. Margaret realized that if she was going to be here awhile, it would probably be an important skill to have.

As she put away the supplies she had gathered to make the silverware, one of the Lost Boys suddenly jumped into the clearing. "HEEEEEYAH!" He shouted, assuming an offensive position toward Margaret. Margaret only blinked at him, unmoving. Upon realizing that it was only Margaret, and not an intruder, the Lost Boy blushed sheepishly and immediately resumed a normal position. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's quite alright. You never can be too careful, especially in a place like this," Margaret said, as she began take down some of the clothes that were hanging from the line. Attempting to not be rude, Margaret looked back at the boy, realizing that he was the tallest out of all the Lost Boys. "You must be Slightly," Margaret said, casting a brief glance at the boy, who hadn't moved since he had jumped into the clearing.

"Yes. Slightly, at your service!" He said, assuming a rather impressive salute. Margaret allowed herself a moment to turn herself toward him and give him her full attention, saluting him back in the process. Slightly suddenly grew sheepish again, an intense crimson blush setting in on his face. Margaret smiled and returned to taking the sheets and clothes off of the line, dropping them into the basket. "Um, Margaret, I want to ask: is Jane really your mother?" Slightly asked after a moment of silence. Margaret froze, unable to respond at the question at first.

"Well, she was, as a matter of fact. I mean, she still is, I guess, but…" Margaret bit her lip as she turned to face Slightly, "she, along with my father both died when I was very young. I hardly remember them."

Slightly cocked his head over to the side, puzzlement present on his face. "What is 'died'?" He asked her curiously. Margaret blinked, unsure how to respond to the question. Upon pondering for a second, she gestured for Slightly to sit down with her.

"Well, 'died' is the past tense for the word, 'death'. So, truly you are asking me what 'death' is. Death is when…well, it has different meanings for everyone," she said uncertainly, only garnering a blank expression from Slightly. "Death is when you lose your ability to live. You know how you are able to see the world around you and how you can interact with it? And you know how you can think things in your mind? Well, when you're dead, you can't do any of that anymore. It's like going to sleep, but you don't dream, you just remain in an unconscious state for the rest of eternity," Margaret explained to Slightly slowly. She bit her lip before adding: "I almost died recently, as a matter of fact."

Slightly stared at Margaret with his mouth agape. "How do you die? And how did you almost die? Is it something that happens often? Can you wake up from death? What is it like?"

"Whoa, there, calm down!" Margaret said, holding her hands up. "Um, there are many ways to die. But probably the one most familiar to you would be having a sword thrust into you by Captain Hook. In reality, there are a bloody lot of ways to die. Another way you can die is if you fall from a rather large height. Captain Hook had thrown me out of a tall building. Had it not been for Peter I would have died," Margaret said, answering Slightly's first two questions. "You can only live and die once in your life, but everyone at some point must die. So, yes, it happens often. And no, you cannot wake up from death," Margaret continued, her eyes growing distant. "And death is as I described before: eternal sleep. Well, at least that is my best approximation, I suppose."

"Wow! That is very weird!" Slightly replied with his nose scrunched up. Margaret laughed quietly at his reaction.

"Yes, I suppose it's quite strange," she said, her smile fading as Margaret began to think of her parents and her Nana. "That is why I wish to return to my Nana so much," Margaret finished distantly. Slightly, noticing the melancholy that suddenly befell Margaret, walked over to her side.

"Wendy could die?"

"Everyone at some point dies," Margaret confirmed. Suddenly, she looked over at Slightly, and idea forming in her head. "You wouldn't happen to be willing to give me some help with something, would you?"

"Help you with what?"

"Help me get home."


	8. Dinner

**A/N:** Hello lovely readers! I'm very excited to begin this chapter today. I hope I can get it out to you guys soon! I actually wrote a one-shot last night that had to do with Undertale, so if you're a fan of that game and Muffet you might like it. Anyway, that's all I have for announcements. Enjoy.

!

Slightly stared at Margaret wide-eyed for a split second. "Nuh uh, no way! Peter Pan has given us strict orders for you to stay here in the hideout," he said, folding his arms and turning his head away. Margaret sighed.

"My Nana is aging. She needs me around to help take care of her. I wouldn't want her to die because the lot of you kept me here," Margaret said in a calm and sad voice.

"Nope, not gonna happen!" Slightly said, plugging his ears with his hands. Margaret knew that this was turning into a losing battle, so she dropped the subject, focusing on the laundry.

Slightly chose this as an opportune time to return to his lookout position as he quietly stole into the wild jungle surrounding Hangman's Tree. However, once he disappeared, Margaret took to looking around the clearing and the hideout for anything she could use to get home as she conjured a plan.

"Hm. Well the island is in the sky, so a raft won't do. So, the only way home would be to…" Margaret felt her face pale at the realization that she would have to fly home. How in the world would she be able to do that?! "Think, Margaret think! Remember those stories Nana told you! Don't be daft!" She quietly chastised herself in deep thought. "Think happy thoughts and use pixie dust. Well, happy thoughts are easy, but how will I get any pixie dust?"

Then, as if by a miracle, Margaret glanced across the room of the hideout and saw a pouch sitting on one of the misshapen tables. Curiously, she rushed over and opened the pouch to see a small pile of glowing dust inside of it. Margaret quickly realized it must be pixie dust. Excitedly she ran out of the hideout and stood in the middle of the clearing. She quickly grabbed a dash of the dust and sprinkled it over her head.

"Alright, this is your chance, don't blow it Margaret!" Upon doing so, she closed her eyes and searched her mind for her happiest memory. After some quick thought, the day she got her acceptance letter to Grim Prep sounded suitable enough. All of the pride and excitement rushed back to her as she thought about the memory. She opened her eyes and looked down.

Nothing. She was still glued to the ground. Margaret blinked, her face contorting into one of vexation. "Alright then, um, maybe going to my first day at Grim Prep, perhaps?" She went through the same process of focusing on the memory, and allowing herself time to float before looking down again. Still, nothing. Margaret inhaled deeply, checking to ensure that there was pixie dust on her, which there was.

"I'm thinking of some bloody happy thoughts and nothing's happening, what in the world—"

"Ah, I see you're trying to leave," a voice said behind her. Margaret whipped around to see Peter leaning against Hangman's Tree with his arms folded, studying Margaret carefully.

"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered to herself. "What do you want?"

"Your safety," Peter replied simply.

"Well, I thank you kindly for your concern, but I think it's imperative to mention that if I do not return home soon my Nana could possibly become sick with worry and _die_. That is enough reason for me to be so desperate to leave, I'll have you know," Margaret replied with a stiff jaw. Peter only sighed in frustration.

"I swear to you that if I could I would take you back home to Wendy, but the pirates have been swarming the island. There's nothing that I can do."

"I understand that it's 'dangerous', but I don't think we'll find an opportune time to leave Neverland without facing at least a little danger," Margaret retorted.

"And what would Wendy say if I had to carry you home dead in my arms?" Peter questioned.

Margaret froze, unable to respond to his question. He had a point: if she was dead, that would distress her Nana more than her disappearance would. Margaret bit her tongue as she thought of a reasonable reply. However, her mind went dry, and as such she found herself unable to respond.

"Well, if you agree, then in the meantime I would suggest putting back the pixie dust and laying low for a while, since that apparently seems so difficult for you to do," Peter replied in a calm tone. Margaret shot a death glare at Peter as he quickly flew away and disappeared into the overgrowth.

"He's such an insufferable git," Margaret muttered to herself. If she were a bit more of a wild individual she would have spat on the ground, but Margaret was an upstanding member of English society who did _not_ partake in such a brutish action.

However, despite her own anger, Margaret put the pixie dust into a cupboard and continued on with the chores she had chosen to do in the hideout. Once the sheets were finished drying, she made the beds once again and started sewing the clothes with holes with a makeshift needle and thread.

Margaret lost track of time sewing, only noticing that the day had fallen to night when the Lost Boys began streaming into the hideout from their duties at lookout. Some of them gawked at her, while Slightly only gave her a blank expression, and Tootles gave a heated blush.

Peter Pan was nowhere to be seen, though the Lost Boys didn't appear worried at all by his absence. Margaret finished the sewing and folded the clothes, putting them away before she began to worry about dinner.

"Are there any particular traditions or rituals the lot of you follow for dinner?" She asked as she went through the cupboards to find any suitable food. The Lost Boys shook their heads, stopping in the middle of their conversations.

"You should wait. Peter is probably hunting some game right now," Slightly said with a skeptical eye in Margaret's direction.

"But do you know for certain that he is? Does he usually hunt at night?" Margaret interrogated.

"Yes, and yes," a familiar voice replied behind Margaret. She whipped around to see Peter Pan standing behind her with a fatigued expression on his face. Slung over his right shoulder was a deer, which had been expertly killed with a precise arrow to the heart. "Since you've been doing so much around here, I'll do the cooking this evening," Peter said as he ducked outside to put the deer down.

"You forgot to call her 'mother'!" Tootles added immediately after.

"What did you just call me?" Margaret called after him in confusion.

"I called you 'mother'," Tootles said in his squeaky voice. Margaret turned to look at him, trying to recall if Nana had ever mentioned anything about being called mother.

"Ah," Margaret said in remembrance, "yes, 'mother'. I remember Nana mentioning something about that."

"Did you not know?" The boy in the bear outfit asked Margaret in shock. The Lost Boys all gaped at her, somehow uncomprehending of the fact that she did not know that being a female in Neverland immediately meant that she was the "mother".

"I don't recall there being a sign outside that said that I was you lots 'mother'," Margaret replied in a dry voice. The Lost Boys perpetuated their looks of shock as they remained staring at Margaret. Peter Pan ducked back in with the now skinned deer. He paused in confusion at seeing the flabbergasted looks of the Lost Boys.

"What's happened here?" He asked Margaret upon seeing the mixture of amusement and annoyance in her face.

"Well, I did not know that I was the 'mother'. They seem to be unable to understand that," she said with a civil shrug.

"Lost Boys, she's not your 'mother'. Wendy is," Peter stated clearly.

"But she looks exactly like Wendy!" The twin boys protested in unison. "Are we still not sure that she isn't Wendy?"

"Oh, dear goodness, we have already discussed this matter," Margaret groaned in an exasperated tone.

"Twins, lay off. Margaret is not your mother. She may do motherly things, but Wendy is still your mother," Peter finished firmly. The Lost Boys all reluctantly nodded their heads in understanding at the situation. Before Margaret could catch herself, she offered him a nod of gratitude, a gesture that Peter merely stared at before cooking the deer.

Dinner that night was a silent affair as everyone chewed on the delicious meat in quiet contemplation. Margaret, a bit disgusted at her impatience and behavior from earlier found herself barely able to eat the delicious dinner, quickly excusing herself before she could even manage to have a bite.

Margaret hurried out of the hideout into the chilly night air, staring at the twinkling stars in the sky as she stood in the clearing. "My god what have I turned into? A barmy bitch, that's what," she muttered to herself with dissatisfaction.

A rustle behind her alerted her to the presence of another as the individual walked up to her side. "…Are you alright?" Peter asked her gently, appearing to be treading on eggshells.

"Hm?" Margaret asked, turning her head with eyebrows raised. "I do apologize, I was thinking rather deeply about something."

"You seemed bothered when you were in there," he explained to her.

"Mm, I guess I was. I hope you are not offended by my abruptness; it was not at all meant to be in any way an insult to your cooking. Though, I guess I do appear rather rude for leaving before taking a bite. I'm so sorry, I should go insi—"

"Don't worry about it," Peter replied simply. "I'm not offended."

Margaret exhaled deeply. "Well—um—good, then." The two remained outside in complete silence as Margaret was unsure how to continue. "To answer your question more specifically, I've found that I've been bothered about myself, my behavior. I'm usually quite calm and collected in such situations, and yet here I've been such an insufferable guest despite the amount of kindness that was showed to me by you and the Lost Boys." She paused as she remembered something. "And, as a matter of fact, I completely forgot to thank you for saving my life. I'm very grateful in you doing so," Margaret said, looking at Peter in the eyes. She had expected to see a spark of adventurousness in his eyes, but she was only met with a tired softness.

"You're welcome."

"You know, I've actually been wondering: why were you there? It's not like you knew who I was. And, even though I looked like my Nana, you must recall your adventures with my Mum?" Margaret questioned him curiously.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I had thought you were Wendy. I should have realized that couldn't be possible, but…well I heard Hook having talks about going after 'that blasted girl' once again. And, I assumed he meant Wendy. When he disappeared from Neverland, I took to flying to London to check up on her—well, you," he explained to her quickly. "I still recall when you looked at me during that rain storm. I thought for a moment that Wendy recognized me, though of course, it was you."

"That's curious. I recall seeing a figure go into the alleyway during the storm. I couldn't make out who it was, but the silhouette I found was quite peculiar. I had recklessly run to the alleyway to see if I could find the person I saw, but they had disappeared. A few seconds later I saw the strangest bird flying into the distance. And now, I realize I must have been so daft to not have realized it was you. Well, I guess I shouldn't say I was daft, as until about a day or two ago I had been convinced that you and Neverland were just made up stories that my Nana told me," Margaret explained with a slight chuckle.

Peter partook in the chuckle quietly, the two of them turning to look up at the stars together. However, after a moment of silence Peter chose to speak.

"There may be a way to check on your grandmother without you having to leave," Peter told Margaret without looking over at her.

Margaret's head snapped over to him eagerly. "Really? Do you truly mean that? Please, tell me how!"

Peter gave her a wary expression. "Well, I can't say for certain that it will work, but I think that if I use some special fairy dust in the pond that you can check up on her. I'll have to speak to the fairy court. I may not even receive permission."

Margaret held her hand up for Peter to stop talking. "I understand, but if I can't leave this island that is my only hope. If you're willing I…well…I politely demand that you try," she told him firmly. Peter gave a slight smile.

"I'll seek an audience with the fairy queen tomorrow, then. Until then, I need you to promise me that you'll not make any attempts to leave the island," Peter said. "If you don't, I won't go through with it."

Margaret took a deep breath. "I promise whole heartedly to not attempt to leave Neverland on my own."

"Good. Well, now that that's settled, you should head inside. You don't have to finish your dinner, but it's late. You should rest," Peter told her. He looked over at her and patted her shoulder before ducking inside Hangman's Tree. Margaret raised her eyebrows in surprise at his consideration. Though, honestly speaking, he had appeared rather…responsible during her entire stay. He appeared nothing like the reckless boy in the tales her Nana told.

Margaret took one last lingering look at the stars before she too ducked inside for the evening, gathering a restful sleep.


End file.
